


Till Then

by kingburu



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Character Death, First Kiss, Humor, M/M, Marriage, POV Third Person Limited, Sexual Humor, Teen Romance, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 19:33:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingburu/pseuds/kingburu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Timetraveling feels like a kitten nibbling at your skin. First, it starts with your belly button. The sensation travels circularly until it engulfs your entire stomach, and you feel a faint taste of a Snicker’s bar in the back of your mouth even though you haven’t had one. You chew on your teeth like peanuts and it feels like you’re breathing in Jell-O. Then—you watch your body disappear and feel it reappear on the surface of another ground before standing in a new atmosphere with bare freckled hands that cover your ‘nads.</p><p> </p><p>//Loosely based off the TimeTraveler's Wife//</p>
            </blockquote>





	Till Then

Timetraveling feels like a kitten nibbling at your skin. First, it starts with your belly button. The sensation travels circularly until it engulfs your entire stomach, and you feel a faint taste of a Snicker’s bar in the back of your mouth even though you haven’t had one. You chew on your teeth like peanuts and it feels like you’re breathing in Jell-O. Then—you watch your body disappear and feel it reappear on the surface of another ground before standing in a new atmosphere with bare freckled hands that cover your ‘nads.

 

The first time it happens, Wally freaks out. He’s thirteen, in the hospital, in pain, trying to breathe with the soot lodged in his throat and burnt skin that rips like paper and falls like confetti. He’s instructed not to move, told that he will be released in a few days after he heals, and pretends he didn’t hear the self-loathing conversation between Uncle Barry and Aunt Iris.

 

Originally he figures he’s hungry, when his stomach tingles with little kitten bites. His skin feels like it’s ripping every time he groans, and Wally jabs blindly at the orderly button. Out of instinct, he wiggles his toes—and they feel bare, out of place, very— _cold._

 

Wally yanks the blanket away from his body and searches for his legs. His teeth clatter, feeling as though his heels are against cold snow and—c-can’t f-f- _find_ _his_ _legs_. A yelp escapes his lips. He moves to tug the blanket back and yell for the nurse but— _arm’sgonarm’sgonhisarmisgonetoo_ —and the freckles disappear from his shoulders.

 

(Later on he thinks, watching himself disappear is actually kinda cool.)

 

For now he searches for a mirror and watches his reflection as even his head disappears. One ear registers the heart-rate monitor, and the other hears bristling cold snow as it flaps about the air. Wally closes his eyes one moment—

 

—and opens them to the snowy ground—at least four feet deep as it buries a bluish-black mountain. He keens, eyes darting everywhere, and shouts an inappropriate curse word as snow cuddles up against his balls. Wally opens his eyes wide enough for his lashes to touch his eyebrows, and whines as snow slaps his burns.

 

Wally is naked.

 

Like, _holy crap_ , he’s naked.

 

Staring at himself without clothes on is usually one of his favorite hobbies—but in the snow with every inch of his body burned and throat dry—that is _definitely_ a no-no. Wally scrambles to his feet—then topples over, slamming a foot into a _rock-shaped rock._ He slams into the snow face-first and cries out in misery.

 

Cold. _Cold, cold, **cold.**_

 

He’ll probably die of hypothermia first, then hunger. Then a giant Siberian Tiger may chew off his leg.  

 

Wally wants to hide, but he doesn’t know where. He wants to call Uncle Flash to pick him up, but he doesn’t know _how._

 

His fingers turn blue in the cold—and suddenly, part of the mountain… _opens up._ He hears footsteps as they delve into snow, with a soft _clench clench_ as the owner walks away. There’s a— _“What the…_?” that shouts through the air rather _loudly_ , and then someone has an icy hand on his arm. Wally flinches and slaps it away and it _hurts._

Then there’s an anxious chuckle. There’s a quiet sound, like fabric beating in the wind, before he feels a jacket over him. Whoever it is plucks him off the ground, and Wally looks away before his frozen tears can be seen. “You _told_ me this would happen—”

 

“Are we in Russia?” Wally blabs. His teeth clatter and he presses his frozen nose into the man’s bicep. Then—he remembers it hurts, everything _hurts_. Wally curls into himself and jerks away, but the boy in front of him keeps a firm grip on his red waist.

 

“We’re not in Russia. God—you’re _cold._ ” The guy says nothing more, though Wally doesn’t have to fight hard to hear the smile in the boy’s voice. He retracts a hand, then combs it through the boy’s snowy red hair.

 

Sunglasses meet his gaze, despite the freezing weather. Wally looks up with a frozen gaze and sees dark hair covered by the ugliest knitted hat he’s ever seen, and a look of worry around the boy’s face. The thought, _Mister Bad Touch_ doesn’t cross his mind—not with the warmth the boy greets him with. Warmth. _Warmth._ Wally buries his face in the boy’s chest and squirms.

 

The boy curses softly. “Let’s get you inside.”

 

They go inside (inside _what_ , he’s not really _sure_ ) after the boy scoops up Wally. He’s put onto a warm bed, wrapped in several blankets until he resembles a burrito, and given a thick sweater and pajama pants to wear. Wally stays under his new binding until the boy comes back with two cups of hot cocoa.

 

The room is made of rocks, with stalactites that hang off the wall against light fixtures, and posters of movies he hasn’t seen yet. The boy looks at him with a fond smile, maybe a smirk of familiarity Wally himself isn’t prepared for, and shuts the door behind him. The look fades, until it resembles the one his family gave him after finding him unconscious in the garage.

 

“You feel better?” the boy asks.

 

Wally nods tensely and drinks the mug dry. The sweater is four sizes too big, rubbing against sensitive flesh, and the pant legs dangle over his bare toes. He can’t help but feel self-conscious, curling into himself until his private parts are covered again.

                                                                                    

He doesn’t know why—but he trusts the boy. (He also doesn’t think it’s wise to let his penis hanging around—that’s kind of embarrassing.)

 

Without forewarning, the boy reaches over to the nightstand and pulls out a first-aid kit. Wally recognizes the small tube of aloe vera immediately. The boy reaches forward to grab Wally’s arm—and Wally yanks it away.

 

“You didn’t seem too worried about pulling me out of the snow,” Wally speculates. His hands curl at his feet.

 

He can’t help but cower under that gaze when the boy gives him a look that says, ‘ _are you stupid?’_ “I’d do it to any naked kid I saw making snow angels with their face.”

 

“ _That’s_ not proven.” He has to stay strong. His uncle is the _Flash._ “Where are we? Are you a secret villain? Are you a nemesis of my uncle? My uncle’s the Flash, you know. He’ll find me and kick your butt. Am I a hostage? I won’t tell you _anything._ ”

 

It provokes another stare down. The boy’s eyebrows raise, maybe rolling his eyes beneath the shades, and he yanks Wally’s arm toward him. The redhead squirms as the aloe vera is poured onto his skin with a sickening _squelch._ “My name is Nightwing. I’m your best friend.”

 

“No you’re—”

 

“From the future,” Nightwing continues.

 

It shuts Wally up immediately. Wide-eyed, mouth agape and his head suddenly running the word _‘cool’_ in his head.

 

“Wallace Rudolph West. You’re Barry Allen’s nephew; the Fastest Man Alive and married to Iris West-Allen. In _my_ time, you and I have been best friends for nearly six years. This is the first time you’ve ever met me. Literally.” A blue eye pokes out of the shades, and Wally memorizes the little specks of periwinkle he sees. Nightwing shrugs nonchalantly and appears to have no problem hiking the sleeve up to Wally’s shoulder to rub more aloe vera on him. “You’re a timetraveler. A dumb one, at that. This is your first time travelling to the future. That accident in your garage didn’t just give you super speed, but it gave you the ability to travel different time periods.”

 

“I can’t take you seriously with that hat on.”

 

“You shouldn’t,” Nightwing muses. “It was a gift from you.”

 

The smile spreads across the older boy’s face, sickeningly charming and unwithering to the point Wally starts blushing. At the time, he doesn’t understand why Nightwing makes him so flustered like Cindy Wilkens in his science class. He’ll understand later and probably duck his head in shame when it becomes a passing thought. Yet here and now, as vivacious and bold as Wally feels, he wilts with the mug curled in his hands.

 

Nightwing’s face softens, and he closes the cap on the bottle. He opens his mouth to speak—and Wally interrupts him.

 

“I did the experiment wrong,” the redhead explains miserably. “Got struck by lightning for nothing. What a _waste._ That stuff hurts, you know.”

 

“I wasn’t aware,” Nightwing responds wryly. His expression softens, tender like the way Uncle Barry stares at Aunt Iris. Wally bites the inside of his mouth and blinks when Nightwing chuckles. “Dude. I just—you’re just a kid.”

 

“Robin was nine years old when he became a hero.” Wally glares. But somehow, it’s the right response for the older boy. Nightwing is too knowing, but Wally doesn’t want to be underestimated because he’s younger. “This isn’t a one time thing, is it?”

 

“What do you think?”

 

“I think you think using Jedi mind tricks will suddenly make me self-aware even though you’re totally not a Jedi.” Wally shakes his head dismissively and wiggles his feet in his burrito. Shockingly, he feels better, less pained. “Uncle Barry’s never going to forgive me. He hates me.”

 

It’s enough for Nightwing to sober, with a look on his face that hits Wally hard. Nightwing reaches out, just like Uncle Barry would, and pushes the hair out of Wally’s face. He presses a moist kiss on Wally’s forehead. (His older cousin Jessie does the same thing just to tease him, but he doesn’t blush the way he does, when Nightwing does it.) “You’re a real idiot, you know that? That’s not information you freely share with other people.”

 

Wally can’t help but wince. He bites the inside of his mouth once more and looks away until his eyes meet Nightwing’s feet. He’s been called names before. Idiot, dummy, smart aleck, _nerd._ But so is the Flash. The Flash got his powers after performing a lab procedure with chemicals. He’s a mutant—not born with it, not gifted by something as lame and falsifiable as magic. The Flash is a scientist, like Wally wants to be, and isn’t ridiculed because of it.

 

Still, it hurts to hear. Nightwing’s right—he’s dumb for putting Uncle Flash’s name in a compromising position. What if a villain _finds out_ and does something?

 

“Oh. Ugh.” A cold hand presses against his forehead, and Wally is met with the bluest eyes he’s ever seen. Nightwing hikes the shades over his hair and rubs the bridge of his nose. “I’m not...whelmed enough for this.”

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

“At least you still have manners.” Nightwing smiles again, and it negates the irritation and animosity stirring in Wally’s stomach. He backs away until there’s three feet of distance between them on either side of the bed, and lays a hand flat on the mattress. “And you’re still hard of hearing.”

 

“You’re really not earning brownie points with me right now, bub.”

 

“But I will,” the older boy protests. He reaches out as though it’s instinctive, and cups Wally’s face between his fingers. His smile is firm, and with his eyes exposed, Wally feels the fluster clumping in his throats. Nightwing rubs a thumb over Wally’s cheek, feeling the soft flesh between his fingers.

 

It’s a sliver of affection Wally’s not quite used to getting. Most people just want to buddy up with him for assignments because he’s smart. After class is over, they usually pretend he doesn’t exist. This, though—the way Nightwing stares at him, Wally thinks the gesture belongs in a porno.

 

And again, Nightwing’s voice tingles in his ears, very kind.

 

“Yeah,” the older boy murmurs, content. “I definitely will.”

 

With his eyes exposed, Wally decides Nightwing cannot be older than fifteen or a mature sixteen. He’s tactless and witty, and a little abnormal, but normal isn’t cool anyway. _Normal_ means ragging on the smart kid on school because you’re not as intelligent.

 

He swats the hand away, if only to hide how red his face is. Nightwing chuckles softly, the same way his grandma does whenever he shows up with his hair sticking up in different ends and soot all over his face. It fades away into a small echo, with the faint sound of a television down the hall. Wally still isn’t quite sure where he’s at—but knows that it’s stony and domesticated. He remembers seeing a kitchen.

 

But for now—“Your name isn’t really Nightwing,” Wally asks, “Is it?”

 

“What gave that fact away?”

 

“It’s a dumb name. Too Batman-y.”

 

To his surprise, Nightwing smirks. The twitch of his lip is like a trigger—and suddenly, he feels the gnawing at his belly button again. Wally flips over his shirt shamelessly to inspect, along with his legs. They’re disappearing, _again._   Before he can shout, Nightwing clamps a hand over his mouth and narrows his gaze sternly.

 

“That’s normal,” the elder boy explains his gaze flickering calmly as Wally’s hand disappears. “You’re going back to where you were—maybe a few days, maybe a few hours. And— _yeah_ , unfortunately, always without clothes.”

 

With his still-existing hand, Wally yanks Nightwing’s grip away. Half his vision sees LED lights of _Friends_ on TV and the other memorizes Nightwing’s face. “I still don’t know your name!” His heart hammers in his chest—back then and now and his head feels dizzy. “Your _real_ name.”

 

Even with the panic emerging in his tone, Nightwing remains hesitant, debating his options. “Grayson.”

 

“Grayson—?”

 

“Trust me, Wally. Do you trust me?” Grayson’s expression remains lax, so okay with the situation that Wally wants to call him out on it. The older boy takes hold of his still-existing hand and curls it tight. It collapses around the spots that are already disappearing.

 

“Ye—” He disappears before he can finish his sentence—tired and stunned.

 

In the morning, the nurses yell at him before his sponge bath for taking his bandages off.

The week after that, he becomes Kid Flash.

 

**xxx**

Thirteen is a tricky age for Wally. Uncle Barry’s eyes bulge out of their sockets every time he runs over five feet away from the man, and it takes a month before Flash lets him off the short leash. Wally starts taking tallies of every time he disappears and counts the duration of time he’s disappeared. Finds that he can’t. Time is like a big ball of _wibbily-wobbily, timey-wimey…_ stuff. (He decides not to stay up late watching Dad’s Doctor Who DVDs anymore…and does so anyway.)

 

He’s in the yellow-and-red uniform before he knows it. Timetraveling happens to him six times in the five months following his admittance to the hospital, all to a Dick that is sixteen or older. Wally asks curiously one instance when Nightwing pulls away his shower curtains to a naked teenage boy, “So where’s my future self?”

 

Grayson shrugs without missing a beat and pulls off his robe to place over his shoulders. “Somewhere.”

 

“You have _no idea_ where I am?” Wally asks Grayson incredulously.

 

“I can literally say goodbye to you and find you here, in my bathtub an hour later.” The older eighteen-year-old boy arches an eyebrow, far too parental, and waves a hand dismissively. Wally pretends Grayson isn’t dressed only in his boxers. “Trust my luck that you don’t have the memory of an elephant.”

 

“I _feel_ like one,” Wally pouts. Which is the truth. His metabolism effects his puberty, and he feels like nothing but gangly limbs and big feet, like all of the nerds in the high school movie. And he’s _hungry_ all the time. Which isn’t bad, he supposes. It could still be worse.

 

Wally starts fading away before he can catch Grayson’s smile, or the ministration of, “ _You’re adorable.”_

 

When he’s back on his feet, Wally curses. Because _before_ that moment—he checks the town square clock— _three hours ago_ , Wally was waiting to make his debut to the League as Kid Flash. Flash wrote it off as no big deal; just a formal way of him meeting everyone, even the first sidekick himself; _Robin_ —but also added on the, “I’m really proud of you and it’s time to show you off,” that left Wally smiling for the earlier part of the week.

 

But, trust his luck even _with_ super speed, he’s _late._ Wally scurries around; to find a picnic blanket; to find old clothes—they’re in Gotham City of all places, so running back to his place for something to wear is a huge _no-no._

 

The last thing he remembers before transporting off was hearing Flash’s explanation of, “He has a tendency to—”—and then he disappeared. Crap, he thinks. Crap, crap, _crap._

 

“Nice balls.”

 

“Gah!” Wally, graceful as ever, falls over his face and hits his nose into the ground. Looking up, he sees intricately designed combat boots, followed by a lithe little body covered in red and black—and thinks, _Oh shit._ (It’s a word he’s picked up from Captain Cold—Uncle Barry doesn’t like it very much.)

 

He sees ebony hair. Big ears that would put a monkey to shame, and scrawny little arms that are bent at the elbow to be placed on hips. _Robin_ , Wally thinks as his mind spazzes out—and everything turns to pudding. Robin. The Boy Wonder. The assistant to the _Dark Knight._ Staring at him. Naked.

 

Suddenly the way Robin moves catches Wally off guard. He shirks off his cape, left shoulder to right, and wraps it professionally around the redhead’s neck. “I’d say I was _surprised_ , but—it’s Gotham. Getting mugged and having your clothes taken away happens at least once a day.”

 

The loftiness that comes with the Boy Wonder’s tone makes Wally’s skin crawl. The speedsster stands up, covering himself with the thick cape as though it were a towel, and narrows his eyes. “Thanks, but—”

 

“You’re Wally West. Barry Allen’s nephew, Kid Flash as of six months ago.” A smile (maybe a smirk) etches across Robin’s face and he arches an eyebrow.

 

All Wally can do is gawk. “How did you—”

 

“ _Second_ World’s Greatest Detective. Trained by the first.” And he continues the gimmick of being oblivious, not asking questions about Wally’s, erm, nakedness, and suddenly has a hand tight around the speedster’s. “C’mon. You need to get unnaked.”

 

“ _Unnaked_?”

 

“Clothes. Covering up.” Robin is penchant and in the distance Wally sees a red blur. “The opposite of naked.”

 

He presses a button on his utility belt ( _the_ utility belt, Wally thinks dizzily, and he tries not to encourage his inner fanboy.) There is a hum of a vehicle, and suddenly a long, sleek black vehicle appears. The Batmobile exists. The Batmobile _exists!_   The passenger seat opens up, and Robin plucks out clothes. His hand brushes over the comm.-link in his ear and a cheeky smile appears.

 

“Yeah. Yeah, I found him—tell Flash to unworry.”

 

“What is it with you and this _un_ thing?” Wally can’t help but blab. He snatches the clothes out of the little boy’s hand, forcing himself to remain calm. They’re _equals_ now. And somehow it’s more humiliating having his ‘nads flashed in front of this kid than when he returned, naked, on top of the Thanksgiving turkey last November for him. Standing parallel to each other (with pants on, thank god), Wally realizes their height difference.

 

Freakin’ puberty.

 

Robin cranes his neck, tiny little fingers wiggling in front of him with a maniacal grin across his face. “ _Un_ means _not_. You know, like a, be, under, _super._ You put _super_ in front of something and it could change the whole meaning.”

 

“That makes _no sense._ ”

 

“Oh yeah? Tell me the definition of _supernatural.”_ Robin raises his head pompously and crosses his arms over his chest.

 

Wally only twitches. “Doesn’t exist.”

 

“’Doesn’t exist?’” Robin repeats, and watches as Wally pulls the sleeves to his elbows and wiggles the pants over himself. The redhead passes the cape back, protesting the thought of hiding his head in shame. “Wow. How very _un_ believing of you.”

 

“Dude!” Wally rolls his eyes, and the words, ‘shut up,’ reverberate from his lips with ease. When he looks back down, Robin is grinning.

 

“And that’s what people call counterintuitive,” Robin murmurs, his voice sounding almost psychotic, like the hoards of bugs that simply exist in the walls. “All you’re being as a superhero is counterproductive if you don’t believe in the supernatural. Dean and Sam Winchester would take a crap on you.”

 

“Whatever,” Wally says, and he rolls his eyes. He doesn’t like the way Robin looks at him, all big-eared and science-y. “Dumbledoring everything up is cool. In the _books_ , but that doesn’t mean it exist. And stop using the word _counter._ It’s not a word.”

 

The Boy Wonder flashes a pointed look. “It’s a shelf in a kitchen.”

 

 _“Gah._ ”

 

But before they can say anymore, the red blur from earlier darts to their small alley, where Wally is now dressed in clothes too big for him. He estimates they were made for a middle aged man—and before he can offer a _hi_ for his uncle, Flash scoops him up and tightens his grip around Wally’s ribs.

 

“ _Flash. Tight. Too tight—_ oh _god._ ”

 

Uncle Barry is grinning tooth and nail as he sets his nephew to the ground, and leans in so that only they can hear. Beneath the opaque lenses, Flash is stern. Wally gulps automatically. “We need to get your poofing under control.”

 

“We can try,” Wally agrees. But secretly, he thinks back to Grayson’s words of, ‘You never get it under control.’ For now, he groans and thankfully accepts the Kid Flash ring in the palm of Uncle Barry’s hand. In the whirlwind they’ve both practiced, he sheds of the old-man clothes (thankfully finds his underwear as it disperses) and redresses himself as Kid Flash, goggles and all. Wally offers his uncle a sour look. “Most embarrassing day of my life.”

 

“Wait until I pinch your cheeks in front of Wonder Woman,” Flash coos, and Wally groans a little. With familiarity, Uncle Barry turns around where Batman and the rest of the league have relocated. Bats puts a hand on Robin’s shoulder, which apparently is more affectionate than the pair lets on. “The entire league dispatched to find one boy, and it’s your sidekick that finds Kid Flash first.”

 

“Partner,” Robin and Batman seem to say mechanically.

 

Kid Flash wonders if he can bury himself in a hole.

 

“This is Kid Flash,” Flash announces. They’re nowhere near respectful grounds, just in a small alley with debris on the ground, a big green dumpster with purple mold on it, and the Batmobile before Batman presses a button to make it disappear. “He has been my partner for six months now, and is the _best_ in the business. Uh—well, speedster business at least. You know.”

 

God, could Uncle Barry be embarrassing. Wally feigns a smile and waves his hand, making bolder gestures than he feels.

 

It’s Superman who smiles first, all Boy-Scout like, like on the TVs. (Though he still fails in comparison to the Flash, Wally thinks biasedly) “Glad to have you on board, son.” Which seems like all that’s needed. Part of Wally wonders why they’d run to Gotham in the first place.

 

However, Uncle Barry gets locked into a conversation with Martian Manhunter, and the small Justice League seems to fall into place. Kid Flash waits, unsure what else he’s needed for, and counts the lines between brick walls. He doesn’t notice when Robin sidles next to him, smug and childish.

 

“Glad to have you on board,” Robin repeats, almost in jest. Then, his expression fumbles and the smile on his face seems more honest. “I mean. Seriously. Speedy’s great and everything, but he’d rather scope out girls than hang out with a runt like me.”

 

“You’re not a runt, dude,” Wally says almost automatically. _You’re my sidekick hero_ , he doesn’t say, only to keep from stroking the kid’s ego.

 

Robin’s smile widens and he crosses his arms. “I know.”

 

What a little shit. However, before he can say something he’d regret, Wally bites the inside of his mouth and feels the heat in his cheeks. “And, um. Thanks. Looking forward to working with you.”

 

“Great. _If_ you can go at my pace.” The Boy Wonder tilts his head, too contemplative for a kid his age, and beams again. “You can _count_ on me.”

 

Wally groans miserably.

 

But somehow, Wally is looking forward to being in the hero business with this guy.

 

And one year later, Robin the Boy Wonder—his best friend, tells him his secret identity. Dick Grayson.

 

**xxx**

 

“You lied to me,” Fourteen-year-old Wally says melodically. He leans over Night—Grayson— _Future-Rob’s_ (he settles on)—bed and watches the twenty-year-old sift through a text book thicker than his neck. He bites the inside of his mouth, curls his fingers around the snug hoody over his chest, and studies Future-Rob. His memory surfs back to earlier that afternoon—in _his_ afternoon—when Rob set him down and they talked. A lot.  “You told me your name was Grayson.”

 

“My _last_ name is Grayson,” Future-Rob points out noncommittally. He’s struggling through the three-hundredth and forty-eighth page of the book, and groaning softly. Wally can’t help but admit—sitting here makes him feel nervous. Out of place, for some reason. “It’s not like I lied to you.”

 

“You didn’t tell me the whole _truth_ either,” Wally points out accusingly. He sits up and crosses his arms with a demeaning pout. “Hey man. If this is going to be a life-long thing, I’d like _some_ facts you know.”

 

“Spoilers,” Future-Rob offers quietly, and he curses breath. “If you know too much, you’ll end up worrying yourself. About everything. Besides—a week ago I met you and you were eighteen. It takes a minute to keep track of what you do and don’t already know.”

 

“But you met me at _sixteen_ ,” Wally tries accusingly. He’s losing the ferocity in his voice, he knows. “What are you doing, anyway?”

 

“Looking at a book of Austroasiatic languages and trying to translate it.”

 

“Aren’t you like, a genius or something?” The red glows fondly in Wally’s cheeks and he struggles to keep a straight face. “Batman didn’t teach that while you were tying your shoelace?”

 

“Fraid not,” Future-Rob responds without missing a beat. He shirks through the book once more and adds, “It’s in Latin.”

 

“Oh.” Wally doesn’t have to take Latin until next year. He thinks about how broad Future-Rob looks at twenty, compared to sixteen. The sixteen-year-old Nightwing was lanky, with a quieter muscle build that reminded him of Speedy. Nightwing now is taut, still honest in the way he stares at his book. His hair is longer, falling in clumps and an ebony mop. He’s grown into his ears, too.

 

Wally can’t help but wonder how a little shit like Robin could turn into such a major babe.

 

Cerulean blue eyes suddenly stare at him, as though catching him in a compromising act. Nightwing looks less diplomatic, less intent about sifting through his book. He turns in his rolling chair, legs extended to a full length. A bullet could probably bounce off of those thighs. The amicable smile on future-Dick’s face prevents Wally from licking his lips. (He does, however, feel like he’s looking at a playboy magazine.) “How’d you trace it back to me, anyway? You don’t start going ghost on me until I’m fifteen, Walls.”

 

 _Walls._ A tone of warmth and affection rings in future-Dick’s tone, and it _doesn’t_ sound like how he calls Robin Rob or how Rob calls him KF. It’s almost like a pet name, like how Aunt Iris calls Uncle Barry ‘babe.’ He doesn’t think much about it, instead lingering on those solid blue eyes and the question. Wally looks down. Realizing the fourteen-year-old won’t give him an answer, Dick turns back around with a hum.

 

So he goes from being brash and witty at sixteen to…just as witty, just less tactless. And this Dick apparently doesn’t mind.

 

Cheekily, when he’s convinced Dick is preoccupied with his own work to listen in, Wally whispers—“As if I could see _past_ those gorgeous eyes.”

 

Wally buries his face in his arms, the heat going to his cheeks as he ignores Dick’s response. He hears the pages shuffle—then stop, as if taking the comment into consideration. Those _gorgeous eyes_ fall onto him, and he _feels_ them but does nothing about it. Can’t do anything about it.

 

For the past year and a half, Wally has endured time-travelling incidents. They come at bad times (like in front of Captain Cold’s jail cell after they round him up), but he genuinely looked forward to ‘Grayson’s’ company. He’s an only child—so at first he writes it off as wanting an older brother. But…no. Older brothers don’t cuddle with you, don’t make you feel funny, don’t make you want to bury yourself head to toe when you do something incredibly embarrassing.

 

Every time he travels he wonders if it’s appropriate to ask, ‘I kind of like you, how do I get you to go out with me?’

 

 _Robin_ doesn’t make him feel this way. Wally is hesitant to tape on the ‘ _not yet,’_ at the end of that statement, but knows it’s asking too much. He thinks about asking sometimes if they’re good. Like, the _like-like_ kind of good, but chickens out. Because for all he knows, Robin isn’t even gay. Or will be. Maybe be. (He wonders if the last statement is grammatically correct.)

 

“ _Amor et melle felle es fecundissimus_ ,” Dick says gently, probably amusing himself. He offers a sheepish smile, almost childish, to the point it reminds Wally of the boy who told him who Dick Grayson was.

 

“I can barely handle you speaking _English_ ,” Wally jabs. He rolls on to his back and eyes the man wryly.

 

Dick smiles innocently and slaps the book shut. “Embrace it. The _‘em’_ makes it sentimental.”

 

A loud, exasperate groan meets his response.

 

**xxx**

They’re kissing. Correction— _almost_ kissing. Which is how the fifteen-year-old speedster’s brain breaks into absolute shock.

 

Robin catches him sleeping on the couch at Mount Justice, with a clumsily knitted blanket (by Miss Magnificent) over his body as he snores. Then—Dick feels the need to kick him in the gut. Then—Dick feels the need to strip the blanket away, causing one tired redhead to topple on the ground and flank at the glass coffee table with a groan. Then they wrestle. Then like always, Dick ends up on top of him, straddling him like Nala on Simba, with his hair sticking up in sweaty angles and his glasses kilter just slightly, so a blue eye flashes with glee.

 

And it’s one of those intuitive moments, where they both stare at each other. Dick’s breath comes out in short pants, despite the fact he could probably take Clayman out in one swift kick, with cheeks that puff red like cotton candy. The sand in Wally’s eyes disappears and he sits up—bumps noses with Rob.

 

“Dude,” Rob laughs, shouts mockingly.

 

“Dude,” Wally repeats, and he contains a snicker. He ducks his head back with a laugh, ignoring the fact that Robin is still on his lap.

 

Then—can’t. Suddenly he’s aware of the calloused hand pressed against his forearm. A thumb rubs the angle of his arm, while a different hand is pressed against Rob’s face. Against his amicable smile. Like Future-Dick’s. In one quaint tone, he reiterates sickeningly sweetly, “Dude.”

 

They sit breaths apart, with beads of sweat rolling down Wally’s face. Suddenly the red from Dick’s face isn’t from exhaustion, but from a blush. The pair of sweaty palms Wally acquires isn’t from wrestling, but from nervousness. His lips split into a penchant smile and he leans forward, bumping foreheads with the other boy. “Hi.”

 

“Loser,” Dick quips. Without animosity. He angles his head, nose bumping into Wally’s again, and the one blue eye showing flutters closed.

 

Catching his breath, Wally moves his hand to support Dick—

 

And he feels the tug on his stomach.

 

The little cat scratches, the tingling in his goddamn balls. And—when he opens his eyes, Robin is gone.

 

There’s the couch in Mount Justice where he previously napped, with a smell of fresh baked cookies in the kitchen, and the TV flipped to the news channel. Wally shouts in aggravation (knowing he’s naked, but so used to his birthday suit now that it’s lost its appeal) and rakes hands through his hair. “WHY CAN’T I GET LUCKY ONCE—JUST _ONCE_?”

 

“Just once?”

 

It flies over his head that he’s sitting in a different Dick Grayson’s lap—older, a little bit older than Wally. Future-Dick’s eyes are the bluest he’s ever seen, and hair brushes into his eyes. In his hands (or rather, now behind him) plays the old MIDI of Lavender Town from Pokemon. Wally turns red from head to toe and twitches at the inquisitive look on Dick’s face.

 

“I—um,” Wally attempts diplomatically. “That wasn’t directed at you.”

 

Undeterred by the sudden naked boy on his lap (in fact, Nightwing hasn’t told him to get off yet), Dick saves his current game and tosses his GameBoy aside. “What were you doing?”

 

“I.” Shit. “was. Um.”

 

“Getting lucky?” Nightwing finishes for him. A smirk curls across his face, incredibly-Rob-ish.

 

“That’s none of your business,” the speedster snaps. His voice hikes four octaves.

 

“With who?”

 

Wally can’t respond without his head exploding.

 

And yet it’s apparently the only response Dick needs.

 

Wally, with virginal naked body and all, is pushed against the couch and kissed fervently on the lips. He shouts in surprise, which comes out as “mmmphMMHH,” and feels Dick’s hands grip each side of him tightly. Dick mouths him expertly, chewing on Wally’s lip against his own, and the younger teen only moans. The heat arises—and he bucks, when Dick’s _gorgeousmuscularthigh_ is pressed against his hardening erection.

 

Dick kisses Wally, lips parted, and drags his tongue on the roof of Wally’s mouth. He hums in evil glee, hands brushing over Wally’s nipples before he gives one a tight squeeze. Oh _god._

 

Lips plant on the crook of Wally’s neck, and the couch undulates when Dick adjusts positions again. The other boy massages Wally’s legs—touching _everything_ but where Wally wants it most. Too stunned to understand what’s going on, Wally is hit with a wave of pleasure.

 

Enthusiastically and without warming, Dick dispatches his mouth and spits twice into his palm. Wally blinks—and then yelps when the moist warm hand cups his balls and pump his cock.

 

“D-Dude—” Wally stammers. Dick hums.

 

Then he mouths the redhead’s left nipple, still jerking Wally off while the poor teen tries not to cry from the _perfect_ orgasm.

 

He wants to hide in shame when he cums after the sixth jerk. Unabashed, Dick licks the semen up Wally’s abdomen (instigating a high-pitched shudder), licks the liquid off his fingers, and tongues the small spurt on the side of his mouth.

 

Wally groans in euphoria and shock. “What the _hell_?” The buzzing starts around his belly button once again.

 

“Wanna be my boyfriend?” Nightwing asks conversationally as he watches the speedster’s toes disappear with one wiggle.

 

Blink. Blink, blink. Wally can’t tell if he’s red from a handjob or from the question.

 

Blue eyes stare at him, content and tactless as ever, and Wally can only voice a strangled sound in the back of his throat.

 

“Think about it,” the elder teen says cheerfully. What a little _shit_ , he wants to say.

 

So, “You’re a little—” He disappears, landing on his bed in Central City. Looking at the calendar on his alarm clock, Wally realizes three days have passed between him coming and going. “Shit!”

 

Faintly downstairs, he hears his mother’s voice—“ _Wallace Rudolph West!_ I know you did _not_ just say a bad word in my house!”

 

**xxx**

The following morning, Wally darts to Mount Justice to explain himself. He counts in his head; it’s now _four_ days since Robin and he have talked to each other (he realizes he’s also left his phone back at the base, where he stripped and disappeared from the Boy Wonder.)

 

When he gets there, he’s met with a roundhouse kick that nearly breaks his neck. “Oof!”

 

“You could have _told_ me you could time travel.” Robin bares his teeth.

 

A groan escapes Wally’s lips and he clutches his nostrils. “Like you would have _believed_ me.”

 

“I believe you’re an _idiot_ , but you don’t wear a _dunce_ cap everywhere you go.” (Wally pauses and wonders if it’s a mean compliment or just a blunt one.) Robin doesn’t even spare a hand. He waits with his arms crossed, and lips curled into a permanent frown. Very Battish of him.

 

Wally stands up. Dick kicks him down again. “ _Ow!_ Would you just _let me explain_ what happened? _Jeesh_. How did you find out, anyway?”

 

Hesitation passes through the Boy Wonder’s expression—so Wally can’t be blamed for wincing before Rob extends a hand out. He smiles gratefully and Robin scowls sourly. Wally can’t help but wonder _why._ “It’s not exactly _normal_ when your best friend literally disappears into thin air without his clothes.”

 

“Oh, uh.”  Wally’s admittedly gotten very used to showing up without any clothes. Obviously Robin alerted both the Team and the Flash. Uncle B was right, he thinks. Timetraveling is best believed when you…well, timetravel.  “Well.”

 

“ _Talk.”_

The explanation tumbles out with ease; Wally explains the past two years he’s endured because of the accident gone wrong, and Robin only nods. Flash and the rest of their family have known for a while. Wally going days without being home is normal—one swift explanation of the speedster having a “medical condition” to the Principal and there isn’t suspicion as to why he isn’t at school.

 

To Wally, he’s only gone for a few minutes—maybe ten, at the most. To everyone else when he comes back, it’s already the end of the day. The longest he’s ever gone is a week and a half. Flash was one day away from calling the cops—they’d only waited that long because Aunt Iris saw him disappear.

 

So far his disappearing has yet to interfere with the team. And if it has, he’s been lucky to be twenty minutes out with a wonderful Atlantean tactician that knows how to deal with things. Watching Rob’s head bob up and down, the speedster feels a ball of relief in his stomach, coated with caution.

 

Wally explains the mechanics. How he _feels_ it happening, and never has time to voice his, “Oh shit—” He mentions the lack of clothes, and how glad he is that running makes him look good naked. Then, before he can stop himself, he mentions Nightwing.

 

“You…are there. A lot.” _Every visit,_ Wally thinks in his head. The most recent incident stirs in his mind—and _boy_ , does it stir. His cheeks heat, with a voice that’s barely there. He thinks of cuddling, of that playful smile, of that mischievous glint in “Grayson’s” eyes that know too fucking much and drive him crazy. Of how _Grayson_ has looked at him in the past two and a half years and diminishes that generically painful teen angst and makes Wally’s self doubt disappear.

 

He doesn’t mention that, of course—after their almost kiss and Nightwing’s seductive question of, “Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

 

“I think it means that he and I are really close in the future,” Wally decides. His heart jumps a hurdle and waits to land. Even if it’s just a theory, he hopes that it’s true. Obviously, Grayson likes him. Getting a handjob isn’t exactly as casual as saying hello. Neither is one of those mindblowing kisses.

 

Yet if it’s part of a cruel joke he isn’t in on, Wally’s sure his heart will ram hard into the ground.

 

That thought circles his mind as he counts the wrinkles between Dick’s brow. They’re silent for an entire minute. Across the loveseat, Dick’s shades are focused to the ground, with flecks of blue that can be seen as the civvies masquerade tapers loosely down his nose.

 

They’re silent for an entire minute. Dick is trying to hide his look of nausea.

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier,” Wally says. He slouches against the seat and laces his fingers together. “Dude, if I could actually _control_ this then I would have shown you what happens. But, uh—” Red teems his cheeks. Being naked in front of Nightwing again suddenly makes him timid about his own body.

 

Seriously—did he cum too quickly? Was it obvious he was a virgin? Were _those_ noises as embarrassing as he remembers?

 

“That’s why you were…” Robin trails off and gestures to all of him. Again, Wally can’t help but feel the heat simmer in his cheeks. “When we first met?”

 

_Let’s get you unnaked._

 

“Yeah. Look, I’ll tell the team. You said it was on my file; I’ve just been lucky.” Wally bobs his head up and down. “And, uh—you know how I am with luck.” Really shitty, if four days ago is any indication. He watches for Dick’s reaction and notes how tense his best friend seems.

 

Hopefully he wasn’t delusional the other day, thinking they were about to kiss.

 

Instead of muttering something witty or thinking of forty ways to kill the team’s resident speedster, Dick tugs on one of his sleeves. “You really like him, don’t you?”

 

Um.

 

“Dude. He’s you.” Wally frowns and runs everything he’s aid through his mind. “I mean, you…he’s—he’s amazing.” He thinks back to the night where snow blanketed Mt. Justice. Where Grayson took him in and protected him from the cold. Grayson greeted him with a smile.

 

How he always greets Wally with a smile. With a hand through his hair and soft words that tingle in his chest.

 

“I like _you_ , so of course I’d like _him._ ”

 

“That’s not what I meant.” Before Wally can come down from his stupor, Dick stands up from the couch.

 

They stare at each other. A tight frown rests upon Dick’s lips while Wally’s eyes widen, slowly processing his best friend’s discomfort. It isn’t anger. Nor is it hate. But it isn’t content, either. “Um.”

 

“Whatever,” Dick breathes bitterly. He hunches until his shoulders meet his ears and shoves both hands in his pockets.

 

Robin is gone before Wally can say “goodbye.” 

 

Later that night, Wally wakes up to the sound of lasers. He groans, feeling rocks dig into his bare skin and dirt rubbing against his back. Looking through his bangs, he sees fire. Still half-asleep, Wally stands to his feet (bare), and—

 

“Whoop.” Superman (Boy?)  scoops him up and dodges an explosion. Conner looks to him with amusement in his eyes and they start running. “Not a place you want to be right now, Wally.”

 

“Wha…?” Wally stares blearily. He sees short-haired M’gann. Crop-haired Kaldur.

 

Sexy, sexy Nightwing.

 

“I believe this belongs to you,” Supey murmurs. He passes Wally’s tied form to the older version of Rob, and both chuckle. Wally swears he has at least ten pairs of eyes on him.

 

“Nice of you to drop by,” Nightwing greets him. Too tired to care, Wally buries his face against Nightwing’s breastplate and allows Dick to frame him beneath those arms like a bride. The older boy shudders to the touch, with bits of reddish-orange hair that tickles Dick’s neck, and twist in the air. Opening one eye, Wally watches as Nightwing throws a batarang one-handed. “Don’t worry. Take your sweet time. Nothing bad happening he—”

 

**_WOOOOOOOOSH_ **

****

“—re.”

 

“Nightwing!” Miss Martian calls from afar.

 

‘I should really go,” the acrobat whispers. He sprints as far as he can with a tired speedster in his grasp and sets Wally down gingerly in a patch of grass. Wally must be really tired—because he swears this version of his best friend is staring _way too long._ “You’ll be okay?”

 

Wally fidgets. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes and reaches for the nearest leaf to cover his nether regions. “Were you ever jealous of yourself?”

 

Maybe it isn’t the appropriate time to be curious.

 

But before he can feel any ounce of embarrassment, Dick blinks.

 

And then he laughs, like it’s the best joke he’s ever heard.

 

**xxx**

Snow falls on the eve of his sixteenth birthday. It lays unusually thick this year. Wally watches from his bedside window as the little bits meet the ground. He remembers being five, thinking vanilla ice cream decorated the roads and little marshmallows would fall from the sky. Mom would grab him by the scarf before he could lick the frozen lawn. When he tells that story to Supey, Conner actually snorts and muses how even when Wally was little, all he thinks about is food.

 

Prior to getting ready for bed, Uncle Barry asked him what he wants for his birthday. A new book? A new car? Robin?

 

(Wally remembers nearly colliding with an ongoing car before Flash laughs.)

 

He entertains the thought. It’s been a month since Robin found out along with the team. _They_ find out when he poofs back during a mission briefing that doesn’t require his services. The thought that Dick may be jealous of Nightwing still wanders in his mind, but he knows that if a word is ever said, Robin may kill him, motion sensors and all.

 

Instead, he focuses on making it up. It strikes him that maybe— _maybe_ , he likes Nightwing more than he likes Robin. But they’re still both Dick Grayson. He likes the mischievous way his Robin holds himself and the way that trait glows like a beacon when NIghtwing looks at him. Wally likes them both. _A lot._

 

And he wants to be there to grow older with his Dick Grayson.

 

Tomorrow he turns sixteen, and he’s already planning something special for Dick’s birthday. Wally does a mental check of no mistletoes and to introduce Supey to the beautiful thing called snowball fights.

 

Tired from a long day of school and patrol, Wally’s eyes flutter closed with a quiet sigh. Fingers curl against his bare stomach, and he shucks off his boxers—

 

_BANG BANG BANG_

“ _’ey!_ ”

 

“Holy—”

 

He falls out of bed with his briefs trapped at his ankles. Wally lands in a puddle of his comforter and hits his shoulder against the hard wooden floor. When he finds the dignity to get up, he looks over his shoulder and sees a… _blob_ on the other side of his window. With hair too red to be a yeti.

 

Scrambling to his feet, Wally drags the boxers high into his hips and trips before he can grab the Kid Flash ring on his nightstand.

 

_BANG BANG BANG_

The man on the other side talks like one of the Charlie Brown cartoon and bangs on the door again. Before Wally can embarrassingly suit up and hope his dignity is still intact, he realizes the man on the other side is naked. With red hair.

 

Bright red hair. And naked.

 

After one hesitant second, Wally throws the ring aside and wipes away the condensation from his window sill and sees a well-toned body, legs that could only belong to superhero runner, and, er—a mole. Wally wipes the panel above and sees his irate face staring back at him. Holy shit. He opens the latches and hikes it up.

 

The man has a chiseled face, with snowflakes that cover the freckles that used to be there. He’s over six feet tall—maybe in his mid-20s, with hair damp from snow, and bright green eyes that twitch with every clatter of his teeth. Then—he leaps into the room, circles it four times in a blur, and wraps himself in the duvet Wally tripped over.

 

Um.

 

“Thanks,” Older Wally gratefully breathes. He hides his hair and his cheeks beneath the red sheets. Those green eyes scan Young Wally with a trembling quick of the lip. His looks to Young Wally’s boxers, with a wiggle of his eyebrows that knows _way too much._

 

“W-What the _hell_?” Younger Wally stammers. He reaches over, unable to peel his eyes away from the Older Him, and flicks on the lamp. Then tries incredibly hard to keep his eyes away from that package.

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Older Wally shivers again and bats his hand. His eyes dart back and forth around and he mutters a curse under his breath. “Goddammit. Where’s that lame journal we kept about how gorgeous Dick looks? I need it.”

 

“ _What_ journal?”

 

“Oh, god. Our voice _does_ squeak when we lie.” Older Wally paces the length of the room until he passes the squeaky floorboard.

 

Young Wally gulps.

 

“Oh—here!” Before Young Wally finishes _blinking_ , Older Wally speedily yanks off the panel and reveals the blue dingy notebook Young Wally’s kept since he first met Nightwing. “God, this is _so much bette_ r than the vows I wrote.”

 

“ _Vows?_ ”

 

Older Wally looks up, unabashed. He grins a thousand kilowatt smile Young Wally has only ever seen on Nightwing, and then flaps each page of the book. “His…eyes…shit-eating…grin…”

 

“What _are you doing here?_ ” Young Wally steps forward and waves his arms around in disbelief. He pauses, when Older Wally’s gaze falls below the belt again, and hikes the pj pants as high as he can.

 

“Timetravel. Nakedness. Freezing cold snow.” Old Wally rolls his eyes, flippant, and quietly sighed with relief as he placed the notebook down. “Don’t worry, kid, I’m a professional.”

 

“ _Professional_?!”

 

“God, you’re being such a parrot. Whatever.” Old Wally pauses as he looks about the room and steals a bath towel from the closet. He ties it around his waist, and Young Wally watches Old Wally plop onto the bed like a four-year-old. Old Wally finally looks to him in the eye, and the lame humor dissolves into nonchalance. “What are you, fourteen?”

 

“ _Fifteen—_ Sixteen!” Young Wally quickly side-eyes his alarm clock. “How old are _you?_ ”

 

“Twenty-six. Damn.” Old Wally’s demeanor breaks. Wally recognizes it as an adult trying to comically find common ground with someone younger than them, and can’t help feel irritated. But to his surprise, Old Wally simply runs to the calendar that has Wally’s birthday circled. “It’s our birthday?”

 

“Sixteenth,” Young Wally repeats. He watches the man act like a five-year-old and hopes he doesn’t disappear. If he counts back, he realizes it’s the first time Wally’s ever seen a different him.

 

“Wow,” Old Wally murmurs. His expression softens, nostalgic. “Does Mom still make all of your favorite foods for birthday breakfast?”

 

Young Wally bites the inside of his mouth. “She…always declares she won’t a week before, and makes all of it anyway. You…don’t live with Mom and Dad anymore?” Tentatively Young Wally inspects his older self. The other him is two heads taller, with a whimsical trait that feels too much like Dick. Through all of the years and visits he’s made to the future Robin, it’s the first confirmation Wally’s had that they must hang out.

 

“Dude.” Old Wally’s eyes flicker with amusement and he chuckles in a low voice. “I’m twenty-six. Mom may be crazy, but I’ve got to learn how to cook by myself. She can’t call me her speed baby forever.”

 

Ugh. Both Wallys shudder.

 

Gaze fixated on the older Wally, Young Wally feels his anger simmer. He leans against his desk and lets the realization sink in. Older Wally is here. He’s hanging out with an _older version_ of himself. Holy _crap._ “So you…live by yourself?”

 

“I live with Dick.”

 

“Really?” Young Wally unintentionally perks at the news. His heart beats four times its normal speed, and he watches the other redhead with wide eyes. Older Wally stares back, and there’s that little smirk again. Ugh. “I mean…really? That’s…cool.”

 

“Wait until you’ve got to haul him to bed at four in the morning when he falls asleep on the roof.”

 

Red blooms in Young Wally’s cheeks, and he’s glad that it’s dark. “So, then—”

 

“Not answering that. _Spoilers._ ”

 

“—do you still see him when you poof?”

 

“Uh? Oh, yeah.” Obviously that isn’t the question Older Wally expects. Young Wally is too afraid to ask, however, if they’re together. And if Older Wally actually answers that question, he’s afraid it’ll be a big, fat no. Before he can dwell on his anxiety, Older Wally catches his attention again with an odd grimace. “Let me break it down for you, Wally. Nightwing can assault you all you want and do what you were about to do without your boxers for you. That’s hot. I can’t do that to Dick, because he’s already stupidly adorable and I’d get arrested. Worse. Batman would kill me.”

 

Young Wally’s nose crinkles. “Then how did you—?”

 

“Let’s not worry about it.” Old Wally waves his hand dismissively and smiles too pompously for Young Wally’s liking. “Anyway, if you’re worried about Dick, don’t worry. We’re still best friends in my time. The Team’s still together, you learn how to cook, and the amount of times you injure your nose is reduced to four times a year.”

 

“I can’t _believe_ you’re taking this timetraveling thing so _lightly._ ” Young Wally frowns. It always happens at the most inappropriate of moments. Like…that kiss. He’s visited Nightwing twice this week, both interrupting with tests or his favorite science projects.

 

“Unfortunately, we speedsters don’t get to run laps on the same track for too long. You should be used to it by now, kid.  Gotta jump hurdles with a blindfold on.” Older Wally wiggles his toes—which is when Young Wally remembers Older Wally is only temporary. Old Wally shrugs. “Just so you know? Don’t get so worked up if your plans to get together with Dick doesn’t work.”

 

“E-Ex _cuse you_?”

 

“Don’t expect much for your birthday. When it happens, it’ll be perfect.” The bottom half of Old Wally and the tips of his fingers have already disappeared. Young Wally only wishes that loud mouth would, too. “Not that it matters. I’m _so late_ now.”

 

“For what?” Young Wally frowns. He doesn’t like the thought that some else (okay, him) would barge into _his_ life and try to narrate his bad fortune.

 

Old Wally wiggles his eyebrows again.

 

He disappears before Young Wally can get an answer.

 

**xxx**

They don’t get together on his birthday. Or Dick’s birthday, for that matter. No Queen can suddenly induct him as Robin’s new boyfriend, and Wally’s not sure what would happen if he kissed Dick on the cheek like Zatanna. In fact, Wally thinks jealously, he’s convinced  that, “Dick’s Jealous of Grayson” theory is just a dumb idea. Wally encourages Dick to be enthusiastic for Qurac, he’s sidelined. Robin would rather entertain himself with a monkey than return Kid Flash’s fist bumps.

 

But, come the day before Christmas, Wally decides it’s worth the wait. Well—sort of.

 

“Shit.”

 

If only his balls were put away so not all of _Europe_ has the chance to see them.

 

“Shit,” Wally hisses again, and his toes nearly meet the spotlight. At the entrance of the tunnel, hundreds of people, ‘ _ooh’_ and _‘ahh_ ’ at something spectacular outside in the circus. The metal spectator seats rumble in suspense like thunder, and Wally turns in time to see the man on stage breathe fire.

 

 _Cheap tricks_ , Wally thinks, and— _shit_ , it’s _cold!_

 

“You have _got_ to be kidding me.”

 

Wally grumbles and rubs himself hot. Turning around, Roy’s amusement meets his eyes, and Wally tries not to die of embarrassment. Prior to this, he thinks, older Dick was trying to correct Wally’s form. There’s something about having a taught nineteen-year-old against your back that’s _insanely hot._

 

Of course, before he can summon the courage to ask about his older self, he disappears. To this. With an incredibly more annoying nineteen-year-old. Whatever. _Goddammit._

Behind Roy, Artemis guffaws and places a hand over her eyes.

 

“Hey, what’s going o—” She clasps her other hand over M’gann’s eyes, too.

 

Ready to hit his head against the tunnel, Wally ignores the deep howl Roy voices, and the soft grunt of disbelief when Conner gets a good look at him. “Timetravel. Bad timing. Can I _please_ get some clothes? Where’s Robin? I always—” He stops his own rambling. As painful as timetraveling can be, he doesn’t take light at the thought of Artemis teasing him if he mentions where he usually poofs to.

 

“Um,” Miss Magnificent says, and she sounds adorably flustered, “Did we bring any clothes with us?”

 

“I don’t want an ‘S’ on my chest!”

 

Behind them, he feels Supey glaring.

 

“You can wear _mine_ then.” To Wally’s ears, Roy sounds all too relaxed, with a sprinkle of mirth in his voice. If _the_ Roy Harper managed a giggle or too, Wally’s even _more_ depressed that he wasn’t a part of this mission.

 

Ten minutes later, Wally is bundled up in a red and black jacket, along with a pair of M’gann’s knitted bunny ears to put over his head. Unfortunately, Wally thinks miserably, Roy does not have a spare pair of pants or shoes. His dignity is left in the black tidy-widies he hopes doesn’t show beneath the jacket.

 

For that, he glares at Roy, who only rolls his eyes.

 

“Hey, I _got_ you clothes. I can easily take them back,” Roy grumbles, “ _Sexy Buns.”_

 

He regrets ever flinging personal belongings in his locker at the new Team recruit as a joke earlier that week. Especially his favorite underwear. Checking the mirror to make sure he’s covered up as much as possible, he reiterates his question. “Where’s Rob?”

“Catching up with Haly as Dick Grays—”

 

“Shhh,” Wally cuts him off and waves a hand in front of Roy’s face. “The others don’t know about it yet. Just call him Rob.”

 

Roy only rolls his eyes.

 

“Is he…” Wally’s voice trails off, hesitant. He recalls the phone call they shared between the mess, and how incredibly small Robin seemed. It’s the voice Robin rarely uses and never shows anyone—because most of the time, he holds himself as composed as Nightwing. And it’s the first time Wally’s ever heard it from his own Dick. It scared him.

 

Honestly, he was about to take the zeta-beam tube and run through all of Europe to find Dick. Then his toes tingled.

 

Well, he says in the back of his mind, at least the trip is free.

 

“Is he okay?” When he looks up, Roy has that dumb shit smile again.

 

“He looks more relaxed, if _that’s_ what you mean. Tch,” Roy _tsk_ s _,_ then holds this pitying look both Robin and Wally both hate. “He’s too mature for his age. I don’t know what you see for him.”

 

“Great,” Wally chirps. “More Dick for me, then.”

 

Silence.

 

“I-I didn’t mean—”

“Uhuh. _Yeah._ ” Giving one of his super-duper manly grunts, Roy opens the door and jerks his head to the exit. “We’re going to do our routine one last time. You can stay at the tunnel and ogle the kid. Just— _don’t_ drool. That’s disgusting.”

 

“I wasn’t _gonna._ ”

 

“Whatever.”

 

Roy is called by Artemis before they can finish bickering. Surprisingly, Wally realizes, the pair is getting along. He’s even sure the smile across Roy’s face is even less hostile than it seems. However—they advise him to stand near the tunnel like before to watch the performance. Pants or not, he sucks it up to see a Flying Grayson up close.

 

The lights dim to a soft blue that highlight the silhouette of the audience. The _ooh_ s and _aaah_ s continue as the announcer embellishes the magnificence of the “Daring Dangers.” Every “D” name on the planet is announced, as Dawn and Dan swing, Diane and Dane shoot, and Dean as he tosses barrels into the air.

 

Ten seconds in, Wally is fixated with the Flying Grayson who swings on the trapeze. Even hundreds of feet away, Wally can make out the lax smile that adorns Dick’s face. He can see those blue eyes light up above the ground as Megan laces her fingers around his. The grace is _Grayson_ shows as Dick wraps around another swing. The lights hit up at the right angle, to see those thin lips part in a soundless, raw, _joyful_ laugh, and the unadulterated movements that are what raised Dick Grayson to be Dick Grayson.

 

 _Robin_ finally makes sense, as he sees his best friend’s wings for the first time.

 

When the performance ends, Dick lands on his feet with a gracious bow and a child-like zeal that puts Roy’s words to shame. He waves unabashedly to the audience that claps and sticks out like a phoenix in the night sky. Then—as if the gods are taking pity on the speedster, Dick looks down to him.

 

Oh shit. Oh, _shit, shit, shit._

 

Mouth still open in a small crevasse, Wally remembers to raise a hand and wave.

 

He thinks Dick will glare and snap he’s not supposed to be there. Instead, Robin waves back.

 

After the hype dies down, the Daring Dangers rush off stage in order to introduce the next act. All five come his way in a content mood that assures Wally the mission is over.

 

“Well, Wally?” Artemis smirks at him. “What’d you think?”

 

It takes a moment for Wally to catch his breath. He stares mostly at Robin, who is too busy praising Megan about their performance, and ignores the eye-rolling everyone else does. “It,” he starts—and Robin pays attention, “was…um. Beautiful.”

 

Staring may just become illegal in the country they’re in. Yet Wally can’t stop.

 

Yet of course, Robin would never indulge his habits. Wally decides he likes seeing through that costume mask to those damn bright blue eyes and at the smile that’s directed at Wally for the first time in ages. “Good thing you didn’t show the audience a _full moon._ ”

 

 _Aaaand_ the moment is over. Wally tugs at the hem of Roy’s large jacket and hopes he isn’t blushing. “You know you love it.”

 

“Huh. So those freckles spread to your ass, too.”

 

 _“Hey!_ ”

 

Dick’s laugh cuts off any rebuttal Wally plans. He loops his fingers between Wally’s own, causing the redhead’s brain function to stagger, and looks at the squad with an authority Wally’s never seen before. “Let’s get home. I’m so _tired_ of accents now.”

 

“Don’t we need to debrief with Batman?” Megan asks in confusion.

 

“Uh—y…yeah. Right.” Lie. Lie, lie, lie. Wally could care less with the way Dick squeezes his hand. Dick smiles. “There’s a zetabeam tube at the next tour. Haly announced today as our final act, so there’s no need to worry. Better that we get a good night’s rest without worrying about the ‘ _flu.’_ ”

 

Every team member looks ill at ease. Wally pretends he has an idea of what’s going on.

 

Taking it as a formal dismissal, the others lead the way toward the train. Wally is about to ask how the mission went—when Dick bothers to stand on the tips of his toes.

 

He’s an inch beneath Wally’s height, with vivid blue eyes that are just so _perfect_ , and a curl of his lip when he smiles. Beneath his breath, Dick whispers, “Let’s get you unnaked.”

 

Wally shivers.

 

Unable to conjure the right words—or any, if he’s truthful to himself, Wally allows Dick to drag him out of the tent and follows the little white-and-red specks that are way ahead of him. The grip of Rob’s hand is firm, but not overbearing. It just…fits. Like them.

 

Musing over the words of their previous exchange, Wally wonders if this is the perfect time to question Robin’s objectivity.

 

“So,” he voices instead—an octave higher than he’d hoped, “I… _totally_ don’t think your clothes are going to fit. At all.”

 

Robin’s grip tightens—if only to confirm he’s listening. There’s a quiet laugh that effervesces in the air before Robin turns to him. The snow collects in his hair as thick white beads, glowing against those cerulean blue eyes, and making that bird look like an angel. _Wings. Totally doable. Er—_ the same thing, he meant.

 

A nervous smile wobbles over Wally’s face. He stuffs his other hand in his pocket and rocks on his heels. Beneath his feet, the snow crunches with Roy’s oversized boots. “This…is nice.”

 

Dick stares at him in that usual way he does. The one that makes Wally feel stupid. And go stupid. Most importantly—Dick is looking him in the eye. He snorts. “You know, eventually I’m going to be taller than you.”

 

As a person that’s seen various frames and lengths and dimples of an Older Dick Grayson, Wally knows he can personally vouch for that.

 

“ _Anyway_ ,” Dick continues flatly—which is amazing that it isn’t accompanied by a kick in Wally’s shin. His gaze narrows, less euphoric and more sardonic for Wally’s sake. “Since you told me you basically disappear with your _buttcheeks hanging out_ , and…that it’s usually me that you see, it’d…be wise. If I brought some clothes with me.”

 

Wait. Wait, wait, wait. “You’re kidding.”

 

“I’m pretty sure Roy won’t want those undies back. Even if you do wash them.” Robin rolls his eyes, as if pointing out common sense. Which—well, is. “Don’t the other mes have clothes prepared? You jump between two to twenty years, right?”

 

“Well…yeah.” Except Dick usually just shirks off his current jacket or takes off his cape. _Clothes_ aren’t usually in the picture unless it’s convenient. They’re never prepared. And Dick never _complains_ , or actually mentions getting clothes most of the time.

 

“Thanks.”

 

“Welcome—wait…what?” Wally twitches. Snapping out of his ministrations, he focuses on the shorter boy and recognizes the honest look of gratitude. “Okay, you’re losing me here, man. Wh…what?”

 

“Ahh…ugh.” Dick pulls his hand away and rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment. It quickly comes back to Wally’s own hand before he can dwell. “For…the call. It kind of snapped me into my depression. I’ve been pressed. Even if you _were_ worrying over nothing.”

 

“Are you kidding me?” Wally guffaws in disbelief. “Of course I’d worry about you. It drives me crazy to even _know_ I can’t be with you.”

 

Pause.

 

Wait.

 

Crap.

 

Bright blue eyes fixate on him, eyebrows raised beneath the mask. Dick’s lips remained glued together in stun, yet his expression says it all. Wally feels his body counting down detonation in humiliation.

 

“That…uh—”

 

Dick kisses him.

 

“Whoa—”

 

Before Wally can register shock, he feels the weight of the other boy against him. Robin stands on Wally’s toes, drags down Wally’s jacket, and captures Wally’s mouth in his own. They nearly fall over, if it isn’t the fact Wally has gotten acquainted with being fast on his feet. Dick yanks him by the dark collar and Wally’s neck lowers in attention.

 

Robin is kissing him. _Dick is kissing him._

Holy shit.

 

Despite all the pain acquired to get to their current position (Wally thinks he’ll buy Dick a stepladder for Christmas), the kiss is pretty chaste. Especially remembering Robin’s reputation and his playful exterior that must make him the Justin Bieber of the Hero World. Only, y’know—way, _way_ better.

 

Wally’s pretty sure his brain has broken, when Dick parts. The younger teen slides off his feet and continues fisting a hand against Wally’s jacket.

 

Green eyes blink.

 

Blink. Blink. Blink. “Um.” Red flutters up from his neck and continues until it engulfs the corners of his vision. Running the task through his head, Wally feels his lips pulse.

 

“Why so surprised?” Because this did _not_ just happen. A laugh flutters through the air, once again bubbling with Dick’s impish side and he crosses his arms, as if he’s inspecting his handiwork. “It’s not like you remembered to buy me a Christmas present anyway.”

 

“Y-You don’t know that for _sure._ ” Wally gapes.

 

But Dick looks at him in the way he’s done through the years and every time Wally disappears. Wally’s cheeks burn and he forces himself to regain his composure. Taking in a deep breath, he wiggles his fingers—reminding both of them they’re still attached by the hand.

 

“ _Actually_ , I was...wondering if you could spare a few hours away from Bats and hang out with me.” Wally rocks on his heels and wishes Robin would jump on them again. “Maybe….go iceskating? Get some hot cocoa with little marshmallows? Or the big marshmallows—I actually like those more.”

 

Per usual, despite their comfortable setting, Robin stares at him with analytic blue eyes. He scoffs. “Really?”

 

“Uh.”

 

“I initiate our first kiss and now all you wanna do is eat _marshmallows_?”

 

“They’d taste better with you,” Wally points out. Though they’re both musing that Wally asked with his stomach and not with his heart. Or both—he believes that ‘A Man’s Heart is in His Stomach’ expression. Embarrassed, Wally looks around to see if anyone they know is passing by. He leans in and whispers, “My favorite part about timetraveling is that you’re always the first person I see.” He doesn’t care what they do—so long as it’s with Dick—and, well, if they don’t get arrested.

 

To his surprise, leaning into Dick like this must act like an open invitation. Dick raises his head at an angle and kisses him again. Which is totally fine, because Wally is pretty damn sure he could live off all of these _fantastic_ kisses. He kisses back, meeting Dick’s fervor.

 

When they part, Dick rolls his eyes in mock annoyance. He buries his face in Wally’s shoulder and murmurs, “Took you long enough.”

 

Snort. “Sorry for the delay.”

 

Dick snickers. “You’re still not wearing pants.”

 

**xxx**

 

Maybe it’s his fault.

 

No, wait—it’s definitely Robin’s.

 

“I don’t _get_ you, do you really think I’d be _okay_ with not spending the day with you?”

 

“I’m doing it for _your sake_ , you _dolt_. You poofed last Valentine’s Day, so there’s no guarantee that you’re going to be here for _this_ Valentine’s Day. Besides, I put in a  two weeks notice. It’s not like Bats didn’t _ask_ me if I was going to be busy for V-Day.”

 

“But I want to spend it for _you_ , for Christ’s sake’s, you’re my boyfriend!” Wally bites his lip and follows after the said boyfriend with a growl.

 

Behind him in the small cove, Artemis is presumably on the phone with Zatanna, mumbling something about ‘lovebirds’ and ‘lover’s spat.’ The mention of the V-word sends Superboy and Miss Martian to their Honeymoon World staring at each other with googly eyes. Kaldur is trying to work up the courage to discuss plans with Artemis.

 

Yet Robin—stupid, stupid Robin, won’t even spare Wally a _glance._ They slowly make a trail through the mountain. Wally is relentless.

 

“I’m telling you, it can be our first Valentine’s Day together. The way you’re talking about it—”

 

“You poofed last year. You poofed for my birthday. You disappeared before our—a-anniversary,” Dick stammers. He continues his way to the den, to the refrigerator, and pulls out a Gatorade. He pauses, then sighs softly. Turning around, Wally is met with furrowed ebony eyebrows. “Look. It’s not that—”

 

“You’re angry that I keep disappearing?” Wally cuts off. His heart drops. “I thought you didn’t care about that.”

 

Robin’s grip over the bottle tightens soundly. “I didn’t say that.”

 

“Then let me take you out for V-Day. Or you can take me out—I don’t _care_ , so long as we’re together.” Wally pleas, and his heart drops. He stares at his reflection in those dark shades, and his chest tightens. “Don’t you love me?”

 

Dick pauses, and Wally instantly regrets what he said.

 

“I.”

 

It isn’t that it’s the first time Wally’s expressed his feelings. In fact, he’s done it a lot in the year they’ve been together. Dick himself has done it sparingly—if he’s in a particularly good mood or if he’s relieved. Instantly Wally recalls the moment they captured Sandman for the umpteenth time. They assumed the man was unconscious, so Kid Flash volunteered to place the cuffs around their villain’s wrists. At the last second, Sandman woke up and smacked Wally unconscious off a building.

 

The codenames didn’t matter, when Robin fearfully shouted a, “ _WALLY!_ ” At the last second, Wally’s belly tingled. He spent the afternoon with a twenty-year-old Dick, who nursed the bump on his head and smiled in a way that makes Wally blush from his hair to his toes.

 

When he got back five hours later on that same day, Robin slammed into him with a hug too big and refused to let go. He said, “I love you” for the first time and pleaded that Wally to never do something so _stupid_ ever again.

 

Usually, Wally doesn’t call Dick out on things. It’s _hard_ , Dick admitted nervously once, to let his vulnerable thoughts out in the open when everyone sees him as the Boy Wonder—a hero of absolute perfection. Harder, because Dick reminds himself that Robin can’t stumble on a decision, either. They both want it to be a serious relationship, but every step they take becomes less slapdash. Saying _I Love You_ thickens their commitment to each other—regardless if either of them actually want it.

 

And this is one of those cases. Too bad, Wally thinks sourly, that it involves Dick _not_ wanting to spend the entire day together. He’s too mad to retract his statement—and would rather _die_ than let Dick slip away from him.

 

Before Dick can respond—or even look like he wants to respond, Wally starts disappearing.

 

For a minute they stare at each other in a standstill, Dick quiet and Wally fuming. He feels the tingling in his belly button and watches his fingers as they wiggle away.

 

Dick reanimates solemnly, tilting his head to the side. “See ya.”

 

Not now. Any time but now.

 

Lowering his head in defeat, Wally sighs. “Yeah.”

 

He spends a minute not wanting to open his eyes.

 

HIs feet press against cool bathroom tiles, which indicates he’s in Dick’s personal bathroom with the long-neck sink. Water is falling with a refreshing hum. The older Dick turns the knob with a soft squeak, and Wally draws a breath. He wants to be anywhere but near any form of this man right now.

 

Not his smile. Not his quiet laugh. Not his gentle touches.

 

To his surprise, Dick doesn’t greet him in his usual way. The pregnant silence lasts all nine months until he hears Dick shirk off an outer layer and places it over Wally’s shoulders. The grip is firm, and Dick hovers like he usually does without saying a thing.

 

No smile. No laugh. A touch too tight that it almost burns.

 

Letting go of his anxiety, Wally gathers the patience to look up. To Dick’s swollen, red-blue eyes and the trembling hands that fold over his shoulders. “Wha—?”

 

“Let’s get you dressed.”

 

Dick’s been crying.

 

“Dick?”

 

Nothing is said in return. Dick cradles Wally’s hand beneath his own and tugs him toward the bedroom. They say nothing to each other, with the bony, crooked hand that fidgets and shakes as it grasps Wally’s own. The speedster plops onto the bed, quiet and fearful, and watches Dick stagger to the closet like a zombie.

 

It feels like someone just died.

 

The attire Dick wears is black—with a black tie, a black dress shirt, a black overcoat, black pants—and the composure Dick holds himself with. Wally tries not to dwell. Tries not to worry. They’re the same age, he thinks—at least in this form.

 

Yet Dick still comes at him with a set of clothes and pulls off the jacket—like he’s thirteen instead of seventeen.

 

Wally’s heart skips a beat. He sees the baby fat disappear from Dick’s face, along with the bangs that over Dick’s reddened eyes. They’re damp from the sink water and tears. Dick expression is disheveled.

 

Almost unwelcoming.

 

Wally wants that smile. That laugh. Those touches.

 

Before Dick can pull away, Wally wraps a hand around Dick’s wrist. He _hates_ it when Dick does this. When he pulls away.

 

“Did I make you mad?” Wally whispers.

 

Those eyes widen in utter surprise. It…doesn’t calm Wally down. But the way Dick is staring at him, like he’s just a _ghost…_

 

Oh god.

 

“We broke up, didn’t we?” Wally startles. His eyes widen, vocal cords growing numb in his throat. “I am so sorry. We’re never spending Valentine’s Day together again, I am _so_ sorry, _please—_ just tell me I’m an idiot like you usually do and smack me over the head. I—I don’t like not being with you.”

 

To his surprise, Dick stares at him like an idiot. Reddened eyes aside, his eyebrows furrow and mouth parts, speechless. A short, indescribable sound leaves the back of his throat. “You’re an idiot.”

 

Wally frowns—

 

Dick presses his lips against it.

 

Another noise escapes Wally’s throat—of surprise, but he never gets the chance to form an actual sentence. As forceful as always, Dick’s zealousness cups Wally’s face and pushes him into the bed. His mouth is bigger, moister. Hot cheeks press against his own, skin boiling from shed tears.

 

Wally gapes, but the scathing skin disappears from Dick, and he realizes it’s from himself.

It’s the same kissing moves, followed by a few extras Robin’s never showed him. The mattress squeaks beneath them, too new to be old, and their legs hook together in a light bind.

 

In the corner of the room, the tall windows glow with a heavenly white light. Dick parts with a heavy breath and wet lips. The light hits his back, darkening his expression. On either side of them, he laces his hands into Wally’s bare arms and buries his face in the crook of Wally’s neck.

 

“I love it,” he murmurs.

 

_Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump._

Beneath the thin layer of Dick’s shirt, his heart beats against Wally’s aching chest. Wally breathes in the scent of tears mixed faintly with Dick’s cologne, and shivers as hair brushes against his neck. Raising a hand from Dick’s bicep, he brushes it through tangled black hair, and relishes that it hasn’t changed in the past two years.

 

“What were you doing,” he asks softly, “crying in the bathroom?”

 

The body above him hardens like a log. Wally’s patience diminishes at the usual behavior. Remembering his irritation from earlier, he attempts to wiggle free and reaches out to the fallen pair of boxers on the ground. He never gets the chance to get dressed.

 

Dick raises his body from their current position and stares down to Wally’s freckled face. Long eyelashes move up and down, with black bangs brushing into Wally’s vision. Beautiful blue eyes look upon him, like they always _do_ away from the mission or when Wally sneaks up to Gotham Academy, with the beautiful luster and specks that look like snowflakes. The red looks too tainting for this face.

 

Raising his head, Wally pulls Dick into a second kiss—more longing, more touching. He brushes his thumbs beneath Dick’s ears and hums at the shiver.

 

Dick’s thighs tighten over Wally’s own, and he pushes the other teen back into the bed. Wally croons softly as he feels the tongue lick between his lips and scaling the inside of his teeth. Dick leans forward, _forcing_ Wally to tilt his head up, and his thigh brushes against Wally’s balls.

 

He shivers.

 

Another free hand roams across his nipple. Rubs it between a finger and a thumb.

 

Despite himself, Wally jolts and mewls into the kiss.

 

Wait.

 

The hand falls down Wally’s side. Parts his thighs, and squeezes the inside of his left one.

 

Wait.

 

Wally takes in a precious breath as Dick pulls away again. He stares with wide, green eyes—and Dick’s mouth latches onto the side of his neck. Wally shivers at the sudden intrusion, and never gets the chance to catch his breath. Dick grinds against one of Wally’s legs with a soft moan, and he kisses down the middle of Wally’s chest. His other hand flies to his belt, and it unclasps with a soft _cling!_

 

 _Wait_.

 

“Wait,” Wally gasps. He _eep_ s as Dick’s mouth engulfs his nipple, and Dick begins to shuck off his slacks. “Wait, wait, wait— _stop_.” He shoves Dick off with a hand, nearly pushing the other teen off the bed, and stares at him, open-mouthed and surprised. “What the hell?”

 

Dick arches an eyebrow.

 

“What was that?”

 

Snort. “I _know_ you know what a dick looks like.”

 

“I haven’t done it yet.” Wally’s eyebrows furrow and his cheeks burn from embarrassment. His fingers curl against the duvet between his legs and he can’t will himself to look at his best friend in the eye. “You and I haven’t—er—have sex yet.”

 

Silence.

 

“Oh.” The surprise in Dick’s voice is too well-deserved.

 

Wally doesn’t understand why he’s actually mad over it.

 

They’re silent for a full minute, where Wally still can’t look Dick in the eye after his confession, and he can’t but hope Dick feels like the biggest douchebag in the world. Then—debates whether or not he should retract his statement.

 

“You’ve…never wanted to make love with me?” Dick asks instead. Wally nearly falls off the bed himself. “You know, when I’m like…this, and you’re like…that?”

 

“Well, I-I mean.” Wet dreams running through his mind, Wally clings onto the words exactly. _Love_ , spoken so _casually_ between them. Scratching his head, Wally can’t help but wish he was covered at least _now._ “But. I’d rather _my_ first time be with him. I mean—you. But my you. My Dick.”

 

Apparently those words are the right ones. Wally knows he’s running out of those. He feels a hand press against his own, and shyly turns around to meet Dick. Who’s definitely a dick. Yet since the visit started, the light reaches Dick’s eyes, coming through as casually as his ‘L’ words.

 

“Wow.” Dick presses a hand to his face, with a miserable, wet sigh. “I’m so so—can I at least hold you?”

 

Uh.

 

“Sorry, I…didn’t mean to freak you out.”  Regardless of Wally’s answer, he lays a head on the redhead and sends them back onto the bed, with Dick’s grip tight over Wally’s hand. He hesitates for a moment—the moves the other one to wrap around Wally’s torso as gently as his words. His nose touches Wally’s neck. “I want you. In any way I can have this you, right now.”

 

“Where’s the other me?”

 

“Didn’t want to be around him,” Dick mutters. “Told him to get lost.”

 

“That’s…detrimental to our relationship.” Wally rolls his eyes and stares bitterly at the ceiling. He’s not sure if two years down the line, having Dick remain this isolated within himself is still worth it—especially if it means Dick would rather face it alone than see it with his own boyfriend. Getting rid of him seems too easy for Wally’s liking.

 

“He didn’t make me cry.” Dick raises his head and stares at Wally straight in the eye. Before more negative thoughts can bother Wally, he’s cut off by a simple, chaste kiss on the forehead. They lay in bed laced together like a knotted rope, and Wally feels like the thirteen-year-old again staring at ‘Grayson’ for the first time. “I plan on apologizing to you later.”

 

“Then of course it’s fine,” Wally mutters. He shivers, feeling the other hand run against his side. Once he finds a comfortable position, Wally angles his body so he can loop his own arm over the other teen. “Duh,” he whispers again.

 

“Love you.”

 

Wally freezes. He takes in the words slowly—closes his eyes, and sighs.

 

“I love you too.”

 

But like hell he’d ever leave Dick’s side.

 

After a long nap and cuddling with the future Dick, Wally materializes into the BatCave and wiggles his toes in exhaustion. The intruder alarm sounds for ten seconds at most, before it’s manually shut off with a system override. Vocally.

 

Turning his head, Wally is met with the sight of green hi-tops jutting up from beneath the car. Next to him is the familiar duffle bag Dick carries on the rare chance his boyfriend returns to the vicinity. Taking tentative steps, he pulls out a familiar v-neck and blue pj pants, followed by soft pink bunny slippers. Along with it is a plate of fresh cookies.

 

Actually—half of the said plate is under the car along with his boyfriend.

 

“Don’t tell me Santa Claus isn’t doing chimneys anymore.” Wally stares at the feet and debates on nudging them with bunny ears.

 

The plate is silently pushed into open air, with an oily finger print pressed against the brim. Dick says nothing.

 

Wally’s heart deflates. He falls into a crouch—because of course, he’s hungry—and downs a cookie and a bottle of water in the safety bag. Four more cookies go through his mouth, with the soft _creak, creak_ of the wrench squeaking beside him as Dick works away on the giant car.

 

The soft taps echo through the room. Wally crosses his legs and moves to his fifth. “What day is it?”

 

The soft metal sounds stop for a moment before continuing. “Tuesday. A quarter to February 15th.”

 

Wait. Wally cocks his head and falls into the urge of looking for Dick beneath the car. He sees the small band of toned skin between Dick’s black pants and his white shirt, then looks over to the main computer. Sure enough—11:45 .”So I made it.”

 

“Yeah,” Dick mocks wryly, “you made it.”

 

The _creak, creak, creak_ continues _._

Fighting the aggravation, Wally does the math in his head. He’s been gone a little under a week. “I saw you, you know.”

 

The wrench stops once again. “You tend to do that.”

 

“We didn’t do much. You found me in the bathroom, and I...uh. You were upset.”

 

“Probably wasn’t up to any good, then.”

 

“You were crying.”

 

Dick says nothing.

 

“You…told the other me to get lost, apparently.” Scratching his head, Wally plays with the plate of cookies until it resembles a satisfying smiley face, then watches Dick’s toes for a reaction. “But me—this me, I wouldn’t leave you alone. You didn’t want me to.”

 

With a soft sigh, Dick finally rolls out of the cubby hole. His hair sticks in greasy ends, matted to his face with sweat and oil blotches, along with dirty brown and black stains that match each wrinkle on his shirt. He looks up to Wally, one eyebrow quirked in the air.

 

“I…never want to make you so upset again,” Wally says quietly, “that a different me has to show up for you to feel better.” He carefully avoids the fact the other Dick wanted to uh—make love to him. “You’re stuck with me, Rob.”

 

To his surprise, Dick’s expression wrinkles. He runs a hand through his hair and wipes the excess grease on his pant leg. “I kind of figured that out when you showed up while you were away.”

 

Uh. “What?”

 

With a roll of his eyes, Dick explains the story. He pulls a rag off a nearby table and wipes oil off his hand before giving the explanation and taking out the hat Wally knitted as a Christmas present. Everything comes back in an instant.

 

“That was the first time I ever met you.” Wally stares at him, wide-eyed. He recalls the first time seeing that smile and deciding, _yup, definitely a major babe._ Dick explains the first meeting happened as soon as he disappeared not too long ago. “But you were smiling the entire time.”

 

“You and I got into _one_ fight.” Again, in his own astonishment, Wally watches Dick’s eyebrow raise. They lock into a staring contest. Wally tries to remember his own name—and Dick sighs. The younger teen rocks on his heels, tucking both hands beneath his armpits.

 

It’s very…Wally.

 

“That doesn’t mean I’m going to take my anger out on this pitiful kid, bare-naked in snow. You may be an idiot on a regular basis—” Dick stops himself, as though he made a mistake. His shoulders hunch beneath his ears (Wally realizes he’s growing _into_ those ears) and they stare at each other again. Black bangs brush into Dick’s eyes and he bites the inside of his mouth. “But you’re my boyfriend. You’re _my_ idiot.”

 

“Wow. That’s almost romantic.”

 

Dick looks to him wryly. “I do my best.”

 

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Wally tucks his hands into his pockets and reminds himself of his own statement. Rob is stuck to him. Yet—in that instance, he realizes for them, it’s not an expression.

 

It’s the truth.

 

Suddenly, it hits him that every visit is with some form of Dick. Of Dick and his smile, of Dick and his laugh. Robin mentioned even himself that he faked those smiles the first time they met. What if they break up—and it’s still like that? The older Dick he met earlier today was too disheveled to even fake a smile.

 

“I don’t want that.”

 

“Don’t want what?”

 

Wally’s eyes glaze over with worry. He turns his head, mouth parted pathetically at his confused boyfriend, and his heart aches in his chest. He feels like a jerk. “You seriously faked being happy about seeing me?”

 

“ _What?”_

“No—I mean. It’s not.” Wally mutters obscenities under his breath and cradles his head. “I’m. Going to be visiting you a lot more throughout the years. That’s a given. But I don’t think you should just stay with me because of— _ow!”_

Robin slaps Wally upside the head. “I swear, you are an _idiot._ ”

 

 _“Sorry_ , then _._ ” The anger simmers again in Wally’s chest and he scowls angrily at the other teen. “I’m _sorry_ if I’m worried about the guy that I’m in _love_ with.”

 

Just as he expects, Dick closes into himself and bites the inside of his mouth to keep from saying something he’d regret. Then—he glares fiercely at Wally with an irritation even Wally hasn’t seen yet. “This is exactly what you did nearly a _week_ ago when I was trying to explain myself.”

 

“You were trying to keep from spending time from me—which I understand _now_ , but that still—”

 

“I was trying to tell you we might as well just spend it _after_ V-Day so you don’t end up jinxing it.” Dick sighs—as if he’s releasing every exasperated thought he’s ever had about Wally into one breath. Hands slap either side of the speedster’s cheeks, Dick steps on Wally’s bare feet, and stands at the tips of his toes.

 

Dick’s…actually gotten a lot taller in the past year, without Wally having to bend over to see those perfect blue eyes. But this is probably his favorite par—

 

Wally gets a hand to the face. _Hard._

 

“I just like spending time with you.” Robin scowls at him irritably before sighing. His expression wilts into concern and uncertainty, and he frowns. “If you can’t control when you disappear and reappear, then I—we just need to be more flexible about it. I don’t say it every time you come into the room, but I _do love you._ ” He rams both of Wally’s cheeks together. “ _Got it_?”

 

“Ghawwwiit.” A line of drool dribbles down Wally’s lower lip. His fingers curl against Dick’s wrists, and he pulls them away from his face. Wally places his hands on either side of his boyfriend and breathes in the scent of Robin. _His_ Robin. “Kiss me now?”

 

“Can’t do it yourself?” Robin mutters. One hand ends up squeezing Wally’s left biceps.

 

“Nope.” _Not one bit._ He tilts his head and takes in every bit of Robin. _His_ , Robin, he reminds himself. With the scent of engine fumes and the underlying scent of Dick’s lotion. They part ever-so carefully, and Wally stares down into the beautiful cerulean blue eyes. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

 

That smile’s _way too hot_ for Rob’s face.

 

“C’mon,” Dick sighs. “I know you’re hungry.”

 

Blink. Blink. “You know how to cook?”

 

“I’ve…asked Alfred to make an extra meal for you each day you were gone, in case you actually showed up.” Robin suddenly goes shy. It doesn’t suit him at all. “That way it doesn’t go bad.”

 

Wally decides he has the best boyfriend ever.

 

Later that night after Dick showers and they wolf down the large dinner, Wally and he cuddle on the couch and pop in _She’s the Man._ Lamest movie ever. (It’s the best.)

 

“Did he ever tell you why he was crying?” Dick asks halfway through the movie.

 

“No.” Wally shakes his head and feels a pang of guilt. He knows that he never wants to see Dick like that ever again. The look in _that_ Dick’s eyes—like he’s seen a ghost. Like someone died. It’s too eerie. “What were you doing under the Batmobile, by the way?”

 

To that, Dick snorts.

 

“Fixing it up. I showed up one day after school and there was this kid named Jason just having a casual conversation with Bruce across the dining table,” he explains. Dick shakes his head solemnly. “Apparently he’s my new brother. Alfred took him to get a check up, while Bruce is filing the adoption papers as we speak. That kid’s got guts.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“According to Alfy, Jason was smart enough to take the tires off when Batman wasn’t looking.”

 

**xxx**

**Nine Years Later**

**xxx**

At the age of twenty-six, Wally likes to think he has a handle on everything in his life. Except—when something goes terribly, terribly wrong. Hypothetically, were he to disappear on his wedding day, Wally would probably die of torture or by the hands of Zatanna, M’gann, and Artemis—all three women who gladly helped with the entire ordeal. Dick would laugh, Wally thinks, until he finds out that Wally hasn’t had time to write down his wedding vows. Everything he’s ever thought about Dick has been personified for the last thirteen years. Why would he _need_ to remind himself of something he gets to see it every day?

 

Oh yeah. Wedding . That’s why.

 

So hypothetically, if Wally hypothetically disappears on his wedding day, Zatanna, M’gann, Artemis, Dick, and Wally himself are going to _murder_ him.

 

The morning of his wedding day, Miss ( _Mrs_.) Magnificent explains their wedding plans. Dick stands on the left, Wally stands on the right. They walk down the aisle, arm-in-arm and watch the bridesmaids and groomsmen at the end. Alfred is marrying th—

 

Then Wally disappears, right in front of M’gann. She gasps, and the tuxedo falls at his vanishing feet.

 

Wally spends his morning on the eve of his sixteenth birthday, evading the Wayne Manor security system, Batman, and taking out his anger in a healthy manner at his younger self. (That bratty little shit—Wally finally feels a little better when he realizes he’s caught his younger self with his pants at his ankles. Literally. The embarrassment is enough to revitalize his optimism for the next century.)

 

When he gets back—that’s another story.

 

It doesn’t matter, he tells his younger self. He’s already _late_ , anyway.

He knows for sure he’s missed out on the full day, when he finds himself sitting on the comfortable king-sized bed, with the royal blue canopy and gold-yellow fringes. The walls are painted with a softer blue, along with a pattern of crowns. It’s strangely familiar.

 

Raising his head, he’s greeted with the sight of his twenty-four-year-old boyfriend coming out of the bathroom in a towel. Dick’s eyebrow arches in the air. “Morning.”

 

“This place looks familiar,” Wally explains. He stands to his feet and ties the bed sheets to his waist. _Ugh._ This better not be the new fashion trend. “Have we been here before?”

 

The amusement on Dick’s face isn’t a forethought for hot sex. Dick’s finger points up to the shiny chandelier that…has a gold jewel in the middle. “Remember that?”

 

It clicks in Wally’s head immediately. “This was our _honeymoon_?”

 

“That would explain why you went back to the eighteen-year-old me thoroughly satisfied,” Dick mutters. He chuckles under his breath and maneuvers to the two suitcases sitting on the table.

 

Trying not to blush like a sixteen-year-old brat, Wally recalls poofing into the room at the age of twenty. He remembers Dick, with the tie hanging loosely over his shoulders—surprised. Twenty-year-old Wally assured Dick they could just sleep—he hadn’t had any since midterms started, anyway. Dick cut him off with the hottest kiss of the decade, with a dirty thigh squeeze that was _not_ child appropriate, and asked bluntly, “You wanna have sex?”

 

“I’m sorry I missed our wedding,” Wally mutters.

 

“Technically you didn’t.” Dick dressed in a low-hanging pair of pj pants and maneuvered to the fridge for a bottle of water.

 

Squinting, Wally frowns. “Honeymoon doesn’t count.”

 

“Counts enough for me.” Dick plops onto the bed, sits adjacent to his boy—no, husband—and smiles. Wally gulps as blue eyes shine up to him next with a coy smile, and runs the title through his head again.

 

Dick and he are married. Husbands, now.

 

A soft, quiet laugh flutters from Dick’s mouth and he kisses Wally chastely on the mouth. “If I were mad at you, I would have told you. Trust me—it was pretty hot.”

 

“Yeah, it was,” Wally mutters. He recalls the honeymoon in his head and _wished_ he could remember the wedding. It wouldn’t surprise him if Dick covered up in the past and said it was just an undercover wedding for a mission. But if Dick was in a suit—circa for their wedding of _any sort_ —Wally is sure he would remember. “I wish I could actually have sex with you myself.”

 

Another laugh fills the air. Dick tosses the water bottle aside and straddles his lover’s lap. He smiles again, mischievous like a thirteen-year-old boy and does that thigh-squeeze thing. “Okay.”

 

“Oh, _god_ —”

 

“Wish granted.” Between the “—ish” and the “gr—” Dick’s lips plant onto Wally’s mouth. His hands mold on the crook of each shoulder, and he hums appreciatively into their kiss. Dick is rigid, with taut thighs that squeeze his abdomen tightly, and bare muscles that curve and twist against Wally’s own toned belly.

 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa—” Wally groans and pushes Dick away unenthusiastically. Lips moist, he stares at the pleasant sheen of Dick’s own lips and arches an eyebrow until it’s hidden beneath his hairline. “You sure you want to do this?”

 

Dick matches Wally’s look and rocks his hips. “You’re my husband and we’re on our _honeymoon._ ”

 

“Yeah…but—”

 

“ _Yeaaaaah_ ,” Dick mocks, “but we’re on our _honeymoon._ ”

 

“Can’t I take my husband out for our first breakfast as a married couple?” Wally’s eyebrows contort. He brushes a hand against Dick’s bare forearm and turns his head to get a better look at those blue eyes. “I just…want to spend time with you.” He flashes his best puppy pout and relishes the amused look that’s given in return.

 

“I’d rather you fuck me in every inch of this hotel room.”

 

Uh.

 

“I guess that’s okay.” Wally stares wide-eyed and alert.

 

Dick flashes his Cheshire grin and continues to kiss him feverishly. For one last moment, he separates them and looks Wally harshly in the eye. “You better not disappear before I get off, Wallace Rudolph Grayson-West.”

 

“ _Well_ , _Richard John Grayson-West_ , you and I are on the _same exact page._ ”

 

They laugh through their kisses.

 

Later that night, drenched in their own sweat with quiet huffs, Wally watches the gleam of love bites on his husband’s chest. Locks of black hair fall into his line of vision, and he brushes them away to get a better look at those vivid blue eyes. The same pair he’s been staring at for nearly a decade. He holds Dick close and feels the soft rumble of Dick’s chest against his own.

 

“Love you, Mister Grayson-West,” Dick whispers.

 

Wally smiles softly and breathes in the scent of sweat and Dick. He shuts his eyes and moves a hand though Dick’s wet hair. “Love you too, Mister Grayson-West.”

**xxx**

Thirty years old is the big age that sets the pace for the rest of your life. Wally supposes it only makes sense for him to have disappeared early that morning—the night before he goes to bed earlier than his nocturnal husband—then wakes up standing on his own two feet, in the luxurious bathroom of the Wayne Manor.

 

At the other side of the door, Artemis yells that it’s _his_ fault that Wally is late. At his feet—Wally find the tuxedo M’gann bought him nearly four years ago.

 

 _What a little shit_.

Usually Wally is dreading coming back to the event he misses and counts the days that he’s left. A grin splits across his face and he throws the clothes as he can.

 

The old team archer scans him up and down, hand resting on her swollen belly. She arches an eyebrow when Wally appears at her side, and sighs in exasperation. “I guess _you’ll_ just have to do.”

 

“Better than not showing up at the wedding at all,” Wally snorts. He smoothes out his hair in the mirror and smiles enthusiastically at the expecting mother. When Wally gets back, little Jackson will probably be running around the house trying to throw rocks at their goldfish tank.

 

Artemis catches him staring and cradles her tummy carefully with a doubtful smile. Wally shrugs.

 

He’s too excited to care about the weird looks she’s giving him.

 

They walk down the steps Wally has had memorized for over a decade. Not a soul is out of place, and the wooden, wiry seats his mother requested are adorned with flowers Zee promised is the same shade as Dick’s eyes. The wedding is held in the backyard of the Wayne Manor, which extends plenty of acres beneath a beautiful circus tent. Everyone gleams a soft white and blue under the sheathed sunlight.

 

It’s too late, he realizes, for Dick to stand on one end and Wally at the other like they rehearsed, but it doesn’t matter. The relief is tactile across Dick’s face, when Wally appears at the entrance of the tent.

 

Down the aisle, Wally sees his parents, his aunt and uncle, and first cousins. Bart is sneakily trying to dangle over Tim’s lap next to Barbara, Cassandra, Stephanie, Bruce, and an unenthused Damian. On the far corner, Haly’s face is glowing with pride.

 

No one notices a thirty-year-old Wally walking down the altar, arm-in-arm with Artemis. His parents flash him a teary look, while he’s sure Uncle B is trying not to sob like a baby. The gang knows the difference. They see it in his face, having known each other for far too long.

 

But it’s Dick that actually does something.

 

Thirty years old on his wedding day, Wally still feels his heart hammer in his chest, like he’s meeting Dick for the first time.

 

The smile across Dick’s face flickers into concern as they see each other. He thumbs the scar on Wally’s lip, that will take three years to show up, and looks amazing with his hair combed back. Wally captures those fingers beneath his own and breathes in the scent of clean Dick. Just _clean_ Dick, without the blood, without the grime, without the sewage stench.

 

It’s almost as good.

 

“You’re late,” Dick whispers when Alfred begins the ceremony. His gaze remains fixated on the scar, with fingers knotted tightly together.

 

“I showed up,” Wally corrects. He smiles wholesomely. _God_ , does Dick look beautiful.

 

“Hope this is worth it.” After all of their years together, Wally knows Dick is only joking. He could care less—so long as he can see the way Dick’s eyes light up.

 

“You’re always worth it.” Without warning, Wally reaches over and kisses his “new” husband on the forehead. An ‘ _awww’_ flows in the background, and Dick rolls his eyes.

 

“Idiot,” he mutters.

 

“Yeah,” Wally agrees. “But holy matrimony! I’ll be yours.”

 

He has the rest of eternity to show Dick why they’re good together.

 

**xxx**

**The End**

**Author's Note:**

> \- the story is based off Timetraveler's Wife, in the sense that Wally disappears and reappears at different times  
> \- The name "Jackson" for Artemis's son is based off the name, "Jackson Hyde"; which is Kaldur's real name in the comic books


End file.
